


to peer through smeared glass

by brightpyrite



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Arranged Marriage, Asgard, Dimension Travel, F/M, Falling In Love, Prince Loki (Marvel), Prince Thor (Marvel), Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-15
Updated: 2018-02-16
Packaged: 2019-03-05 09:23:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13384860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brightpyrite/pseuds/brightpyrite
Summary: Through a frightening turn of events, you are transported into a foreign land and era of luxury, where you are recognized as the soon-to-be royal consort of the younger prince. Certain your gimmick won't last forever, you're desperate to find your way back home before suspicions are raised and your luck runs dry-- because to remain the jaded lover to a stranger is simply out of the question.





	1. Chapter 1

On the fifth of the new month, the royal betrothed of Prince Loki of Asgard allegedly fell in her chambers and did not awake for precisely two days. When her eyes finally snapped open, the first thing she did was ask to call in sick for work. Her caretakers had no words in return. Now, on the tenth day, gossip has gone around that she had more than just bruised her head, something had clicked (or unclicked, but _something_ changed) in her brain, but what did they know?

"Fuck!"

You stared up at the high ceilings, squinting at the peculiar damask patterns lining the corners. You're still dead set on understanding all of this as some kind of sick dream. Over the five days you've woken up in this strange environment, you've almost entirely persuaded yourself that you've somehow put yourself in a self-induced coma, back in the real world on Earth. And it just _barely_ worked because the real occurrence of the event had been so bizarre, that you've accepted it as a kind of hallucination.

How could anyone explain that on one rainy day, the ground split underneath you and you just went into free-fall through an Alice in Wonderland-esque tunnel, only more blinding and less whimsical?

The only telling detail you recall, had been that before the ground fell open, it had seared a circular sigil into the concrete. And you had stared at it peculiarly before the air sped up around you.

At some point in that, you suppose, you blacked out. And when you awoke, you found yourself lying down in this very bed, feeling extraordinarily groggy. You'd already gone through the possible theories: that perhaps you fell, knocked yourself and you're currently suffering through this state of unconsciousness; or, you, at some point of that day, was roofied.

But the former theory had holes, because if you were lucid dreaming, how come you couldn't control anything? For the latter, that was still plausible, though you're fairly certain all you drank that day was bottled water.

Or perhaps, someone cursed you and you've somehow switched places in time with someone else entirely. Maybe, in _your_ timeline, in your universe, someone's prancing around as you. Your heart drops to your stomach at this concept.

That was upsetting, considering your life wasn't bad to begin with. You worked hard everyday, it's not as though you-- to your knowledge-- deserved to be punished.

The last three days you have done absolutely nothing, leaving you even more time to mull over what happened. You'd been put under what essentially was room arrest, your only human interaction coming from the personal servant of yours.

"My lady, you've awoken!" The curtains on the canopy bed are pulled apart with a loud flutter, and you only groan.

"Mona," you mumble, turning on your side away from her, "I don't mind if you want to call me by my first name." If this _was_ all a dream, you didn't want to be burdened by unnecessary stiffness.

She frowns down at you. A girl similar to your own age, maybe a few years younger you had assumed, considering her cute and earnest disposition.

"My lady, I can't do that, but in a few weeks, you'll be addressed as the princess consort," she says, "so that will be a nice change?"

You pretend to gag to yourself at this, but to comply with her, you pull yourself up to a sitting position. "Right." Every day, she reminds you of the upcoming wedding, and the prince. Never in your life have you ever dreamed of marrying a prince in this antique, vaguely European setting, so why now? The idea of being rich and royal, maybe so, but certainly not for the romance of a man. Your stomach churns at the thought of being married to some-- some guy.

"I can have breakfast be brought up to you today, if you'd like," she offers.

You shake your head. "Not right now, thank you." You felt bad the first two times they wheeled in trays of pastries and fresh fruit and you could not eat most of it. You rarely ate big breakfasts back home due to your work hours, so you found solace knowing that if you rejected these platters, they'd go to someone more grateful than you.

If Loki didn't look like a real-life version of Prince Naveen or even at least Flynn Rider, you swear to yourself you'll walk right out. If he is that charming, you'll probably give him some good loving before bouncing. But remaining here as his eternal wife was not at all an option. You're positive though, that in a land like this, there's bound to be some kind of magical shaman in a hut that can wake you up or teleport you back to reality, or whatever. That's your only idea, anyway.

You let her dress you slowly, still prattling on about the young prince Loki, whoever the hell he is. You don't even know what he looks like, and you're afraid to ask since that would blow your cover immediately. She'd probably call the doctor, and the last thing you needed was to be bedridden even longer.

"I'm sure he's been worried about you," she hums, buttoning up your dress from the backside. It's beautiful, form fitting at the bodice but with a loose, swaying skirt. At first, you adored the breathtaking nature, but now you really are tired from sucking in to fit those traps. You've never missed sweatpants and sweatshirts so bad before in your life. You breathe in shallow sessions and stand still as she smooths out the crinkles, scared to pop the buttons.

You're not entirely sure why you're forced to change when you don't ever go outside the chamber. All you get is the luxury of looking out the windows, and peering down at the bustling, golden city below you. You're wasting away while the cure, the solution to this madness is somewhere out there.

"Yeah?" you snort. "Then why hasn't he visited me yet? It's been three days." Some kind of lover he was, to not check on his girl.

To this, she pauses. "He might not know how to comfort you, that's all. The day before you...." She trails off, successfully piquing your sharp attention now.

"What? What about it?" you ask. She probably thinks you've become amnesiac now, but that's hardly the matter.

"You told me he'd...," she cleared her throat, sitting you down at the vanity before continuing, "he'd gotten upset with you. You really don't recall?"

"No," you say deliberately, "I don't."

"Odd," she responds, brushing your hair meticulously. "My lady wept for hours. I was afraid you were going to hurt yourself over your love for him."

You let out a sudden laugh at this ridiculous notion but halt when you realize she was gazing at you with certain alarm. "I mean," you backtrack wildly, "crazy how I love him so much and he doesn't even pay me a visit, am I right?"

"Yes," she says, but her tone says otherwise. You wonder what you were like pre-concussion, but don't attempt to pry. Soon, you think, all the memories should come back. If they were your memories at all.

"Hey," you say into the quiet, "can we go into the city today?"

"Does my lady feel well enough for the trip?"

"Yes, absolutely," you respond. You were itching to leave this chamber for once.

"Then," she says, "I'll go retrieve the doctor to receive her consent before we leave."

You brighten and stand up. "Thank you so much, Mona."

The second she closes the door behind her, you pull open the vanity's drawers, managing to find a scrap of parchment and a pot of rouge. Popping open the lid, you sniff the rouge and grimace before digging a finger in. You smear the sigil on the parchment to the best of your ability to not forget its appearance, and as you sit there, you gaze at yourself in the mirror. You certainly look the same physically, so it wasn't as though you were embodying someone else.

This whole situation stressed you out incredibly, and you suspect you've lost more hair in the bathtub here than anytime before in your apartment shower. You fold it, tucking it away in your bosom. The one thing these dresses needed the most was pockets it seemed.

Next, with time to spare, you swing on your gray cloak, tying the drawstring neatly at the neckline. Now, if you were a shaman, you think to yourself pensively, where would you be located? Perhaps at the edge of the city? Or maybe underground?

When your servant returns, you're already all properly dressed for the outing.

"Ready?" you say, pulling yourself off the bed.

"Would you like to bring a guard as an escort?" she asks, tucking a drawstring bag into her coat. "After all, neither of us know this city very well."

"We don't?"

She blinks, her doe eyes in surprise. "It's only been a month since we arrived. I know, it definitely feels longer, doesn't it?"

"Wow, okay," you say, but shake your head, "it's fine, we'll manage fine by ourselves." A guard or any third-party member would definitely impede your mission, and you can't have that. Not now, not anymore considering your upcoming wedding. These coming weeks will be dedicated to the search for the owner of the sigil, and you can't have anyone distract you. You think about what to do once you do find the answer to your questions, and how these people will fare.

If your last theory was correct, these people will get their dewy-eyed princess back, you're sure, just in time for the best moment of her life with her darling.

Yes, you think, you can save the entire situation once you find this sorcerer.

You follow her out of the palace like a lost puppy, marveling at all the artifacts and ornaments surrounding it. The whole castle gleams, and you can't even fathom how much this place would cost back at your place on Earth.

As you two stand at the foot of the steps towards the palace, Mona follows your gaze upward. "My lady was so honored when she first arrived here."

"I bet," you breathe. To a degree, this dreamy place did captivate you. It's unbelievable you haven't cracked yet though.

"Where do you wish to go?"

You think carefully before articulating your answer. "Mona, do you know of any, I don't know, magic men around here? Like, underground sorcerers or shamans?"

Her brows raise. "My lady, those businesses are illegal. If the usage of magic isn't administrated by the kingdom, then they're unregulated. Why?"

"I want to find one," you say. "Hold on, I'll show you." You delicately pull the parchment note out of your bosom, and ignore the way she flushes. You unfold it and hand it to her.

"What is this?"

"It-- it came to me in a vision," you said, "this symbol. If you ever come across this sigil anywhere, please let me know."

She squints down at it. "I don't recognize it, but I will come to you once I find out. But please, my lady, don't go to the underground businesses for guidance upon this. They may trick you, seeing that you are of nobility ranks."

"Nonsense," you chide, taking back the rouge smeared parchment. "They may know more than all of us."

"Please," she starts to beg, "not today at least. It's dangerous, and they will have my head if any harm comes your way!"

You sigh. "Next time, then. I know I'm not giving away many details but please trust me when I say this is important."

"Yes, my lady."

"You know, at some point I'm going to make you stop calling me that. In the meantime," you say, "where can I buy some apples?"

Hours later, Mona had insisted on carrying the sack of apples back to the palace and the sun already began to dip below the horizon. You had peered through every store window, observed every sign on the road, but still you came up with nothing. You plan on returning to scour the grounds more thoroughly, without Mona. It was true, some people did recognize you as the intended bride of Prince Loki, which unsettled you greatly.

How was it that people only knew you as the companion of another person? Thankfully, most people passed you by with ease.

When you pass through the gates, you turn to Mona. "When's supper?"

"Not for a few hours, unfortunately. Is my lady hungry?"

"No, I'm alright, thanks. But is there a kitchen around here?"

"Yes," she blinks, "did you want something prepared?"

You gesture to the sack. "I want to make something out of those apples."

"Oh! The chefs would be eager to prepare an apple dish for you, of course. Let me--"

"No, I mean can I cook something? Maybe like apple turnovers?" You hope they have flour at the very least. Tired of retiring to your chambers and doing nothing for the rest of the evening, you were sure that baking something might make time more fulfilling.

She stares at you in confusion. "You want to cook?"

"Yeah?" As the silence grows, you realize that maybe the princess before you never made anything in her life. "Am I not allowed?"

"I'm sure they'll let you in," Mona stutters. "I never knew you were partial to baking."

"It's something I've been wanting to look into," you say quietly.

"Of course."

The cooks all dip their head the instant you step into their facility, and you feel that heavy, discomforting burden crawl onto your shoulders once more. "Hi," you say, "can I use this space?" You dismissed them all and Mona from the kitchen.

The apple turnovers turn out misshapen, a little undercooked, but fine. You blame the undercooked part as the result of the uneven oven system. After letting them cool and chewing one slowly, you came to the conclusion that they were actually fairly good in spite of being made in a olden kitchen and more importantly, no measuring devices. You take two and leave the rest for them to consume, walking quick back to your chambers.

That night, you request just a bowl of stew and a roll of bread for supper, and you eat it in your room in the quiet. You wished you had your phone to play music and fill the hollowness. You think you're going to miss Mona when the time comes for you to leave. She's kind, levelheaded, respectable. You'd like her as a friend or a sister. You make sure to place the sigil note upon the dressing table for safekeeping.

You heat up water for a bath, and as you struggle to undo the buttons on your back, you think about the princes again. So there was Thor, the older Crown Prince. Funny, you haven't seen him around either. Mona liked him, you think. She talked of how he would make a very reasonable king in the future and you had just nodded. Loki was a figure you hadn't heard much about at all, and you couldn't egg on details without seeming suspicious.

To entertain yourself as you climbed into the tub, you imagined them as haughty royalty, the kind of aristocracy that turned their nose up to commoners.

When the time comes for you to meet them and your assumptions are proven correct, you'll be gravely disappointed but not at all surprised. You remain submerged in the soothing water until your fingers prune up.

You lie awake on your bed and there are no clocks in the palace but you're sure it's past midnight by now. It's now officially been four days since you fell into this world. Fell, or awoke. You still weren't sure.

If this were all a dream, you realized, then you would never get hurt. At least, physically. An epiphany shines down on you.

You pull yourself up from your bed immediately, and in your nightgown, you slip out the door. Overcome with a terrific, and yet awful idea, you follow the corridors down to the empty, dark kitchen, cold stone tiles underneath your bare feet. The plate where your turnovers used to be was now empty, which was nice. The wall lamps that flicker are your only source of light as you pull open drawers and cabinets. Where were they?

You sift through cutlery before shutting the drawers. Where were the dainty knives meant for meats? On the wall, you notice the larger cleavers, and you hesitate. You unhook a small serrated knife that you used to slice the apples with beside them and take a deep breath. You had to. You had to see at what point this fantasy blurred with reality.

You push up your left sleeve, and turn away as you graze the blade across your palm. You slam the knife down in panic on the counter in panic as blood pools in your palm at an alarming rate. The pain doesn't arrive until the shock subsides, and you're left squeezing your hand into a bleeding fist to apply pressure onto the wound.

"This is bad," you mumble. You're fairly sure you didn't slice deep, but you're becoming dizzy with the sight of the red splotches, and blood drips down your wrist onto the floor. You take the edge of your nightgown and wrap it tightly around your hand.

You run from the scene.

There are no guards, no guests around at this hour to question you, and yet you still feel as though you're being watched for your crime. To any eye, your intentions are clear and dangerous, but even if you did explain your side, no one would believe you. It's going to be hard to tell Mona though. You pour out a jug of water into the basin and soak your wounded hand. The sting brings tears into your eyes, but you force it down, washing the congealing blood out until clean.

You shrug out of your blood-stained nightgown and find a clean one from your closet, careful to keep the sleeve at a distance from your hand. With your old filthy nightgown, you keep that wrapped around the wound.

You carefully walk back to the kitchen to clean your mess, wiping speedily at the beads on the floor and the knife before hooking it back up. You choke back the bile that rises in your throat at the smell of rust. Your legs are tired from scampering about through the palace, so when you finally get back to your unlocked chamber, you collapse on the bed.

You're not sure if you can fall asleep this time, but you lie down anyway, counting the number of times your chest rises and falls. Your mind continues to spin, trying to register all that you've understood now. So you can get hurt. So you can bleed, you can cry, and you're betting if you die, that's just the same. How is this possible? You know this isn't amnesia and that this world was never yours to begin with, so how did you suddenly awake as yourself but in another world where everyone knew you?

If you ever find your way out and write a book about alternate timelines, you think, you'll be loaded.

\--

You awake to the sight of Mona holding your wounded hand. You jerk away out of reflex. "Oh my God, Mona!"

"When did this happen?" she whispers. "When you were making those apple things?"

"No-- yes," you grumble. "Sorry."

"I can't let you back into the kitchen now! I knew I shouldn't of had left you there alone."

"Listen, it's not your fault. I was reckless; I'll be more careful from now on, alright?"

"No, it's not alright! My lady will be seeing her beloved today, and-- and he'll see this."

Your mouth goes dry. "Loki? I mean, his Highness?"

She nods earnestly. "He and Prince Thor have returned from a diplomatic meeting." Damn. You can't help the groan that escapes your mouth.

"My lady isn't happy to see him?"

Not in the slightest, you think. "No, I am," you say, "I'm just tired. May I sleep an hour more?"

"Apologies, but I need to dress you. If you feel well enough for it, you may await him in the courtyard?"

"The courtyard," you repeat. "For how long?" You're just glad to be going outside again, to feel the heat of the sunlight upon your skin and the breeze wave in your face.

"Uncertain," she admits, helping you up. "Perhaps just the afternoon. But don't you wish to catch up with him? It's been a few days since you last met him. I can only imagine how much you've missed him."

You must have been head over heels for this guy, for Mona to say this. How obsessed was this princess for this man? You're not even sure you can feign that kind of affection.

You notice the brown package in her hands and point to it. "What's that?"

"Oh, yes. He wants you to wear this later," she says, pulling loose a knot on the parcel. Unfolding it delicately, you're awed by the amount of gold embroidery on the dark green fabric.

"An evening gown."

"For later," Mona repeats. "Right now, you can wear this one." She gestures to a more nondescript, cream dress.

The light winds do feel nice around you as you step out onto the stone pathway.

"The gardens are beautiful."

"They are," replies Mona, "even now, I cannot get used to this scenery."

It feels like an hour goes by before you hear the clopping of horses on stone, and you stand up immediately.

"Is that them?" you ask.

"Should be."

You watch them near, noticing two riders leading the unit. You assume those are the princes, and you swallow in anticipation.

"Mona," you whisper urgently to her side, "this might sound strange, but which one is he?"

She turns to you, wide-eyed. "My lady?"

"I know, I know," you say in desperation, "please. I'll explain everything when we are alone."

The servant goes silent beside you for a moment, before answering. "The one on the right. Upon the speckled horse."

Your eyes trace towards him in the distance, who happens to be coming your way. "They're brothers? They look nothing alike." Prince Loki from what you can see, is gaunt and rides with a certain haughtiness; whilst Prince Thor simply has a domineering, rough aura about him. Both appear pompous as hell. You turn your head away and shut your eyes, breathing deeply.

You searched your brain for bits of information on your relationship with Prince Loki, but only drew blanks. You had no idea how you used to act with him, how he treated you, or what you thought of him. But apparently, when one time he said something especially cutting, you had cried. You wrinkle your nose. To feign a nature where you'd easily cry over some man? Unbelievable. You watch as Prince Thor and Prince Loki split paths, the former turning away towards the stables you presume, and the latter straight forward.

So how were you going to act with him now? Should you be docile and forgiving? Or upset with him for past arguments you don't remember at all?

Again, you breathe in deep, and exhale completely through your mouth. You don't have enough time to think of an entirely new personality to play-- you were never that good at improvisation anyway. Your fists ball up, and you feel the wound on your palm sting.

A hand reaches out to gently grab at your upper arm, and you jolt. Mona pulls away at your erratic behavior. "My lady, you're shaking," she says.

"I've got this," you say. "I've got this."

He jumps off the horse nimbly, and he's walking towards you. You can see his face more transparently now, and-- well, he's no Naveen but he's handsome. You stifle the panic down as you bow your head at him.

"Your Highness," you greet quickly, trying to hide the stammer in your voice. You keep your eyes downcast for as long as you can, before jerking back up, but for some odd reason, you can't keep your gaze on him long enough to properly meet his eyes. Your heart is thrumming wildly in your ribcage and you're just _scared_. Scared of him, scared of letting your identity slip, scared of the exotic nature of this kingdom.

"Look at me." Your wide eyes snap back at him, who stands proud and tall and certainly watching you make a fool out of yourself. Beside you, Mona is watching the exchange in equal horror as you are.

"How are you feeling?" he asks, modulated.

"I'm... getting better," you say. "Thank you for your concern, your Highness. I hope your trip went well?" His pale green eyes seem to stare right through you.

He scans your figure before answering. "Uneventful." His distant tone sets you off and your gut twists. You're getting married to _him?_ You suppose you should've have seen this coming, a coerced marriage, but you had at least expected some kind of warmth from him.

Unsure as to what to say now, you glance at Mona urgently. Being the savior she is, she jumps in quickly. "Will your Highness be at the supper tonight?"

Wait, what? "I have no reason to miss it," he answers. And then back to you, "Will you be accompanying us?"

"Will I?" you pause. "Yeah, I guess-- I mean, yes, I will. So... I'll let you settle in until then."

"You don't wish to catch up with your beloved," he muses, eyes bright. The way he refers to himself makes your hair stand on end, as if the sarcasm in his tone went deeper than just disinterest.

"No, no, don't misunderstand me," you respond. "I just worry for your health that's all. If you are fatigued, I wish you to rest."

"You're the one who did not awake for days and you worry for me?"

"Well," you shift your weight from one foot to the other with discomfort, "I suppose so."

That's probably not the response he was looking for, since he withdraws from you. Immediately, you feel so unrefined, so backwards in comparison to him and most likely every other royal member in the palace. Damn. You should've been more friendly, more perceptive, more in love.

To your relief, he only runs his fingers through his long, dark hair. "Perhaps I will take my leave for the afternoon. Thank you, darling, you're dismissed." You press a smile, until you realize he was talking to Mona.

Kill Bill sirens are going off in your head as you watch Mona step away from the conversation, but when you turn to him, he's simply gazing down at your bandaged hand. "Getting into all sorts of trouble when I'm absent, aren't we?"

You let out a nervous laugh. "I'm just quite clumsy, your Highness." You keep your hands clasped at your front, hoping that he won't try anything with you. And luckily, he doesn't attempt anything. These upcoming days will be awkward if you're forced to regard him as a stranger like this every time you meet, but it's better than becoming too attached.

"Be careful," he says simply.

When he finally leaves, you feel as though you got absolutely nothing out of that conversation. You can't read him at all, not under this daylight. His cold disposition unnerves you and you truly believe he already knows things that you never even had to voice.

"I fucked that one up, didn't I," you say miserably.

"I don't know what fuck means," says Mona, "but that was strange indeed." She faces you. "My lady needs to explain everything when we return to your chamber."

"I will, I will," you say in a hushed voice. "And you need to tell me exactly how I used to act, okay? I seriously feel as though one false move could get me beheaded."

She sends you a look of incredulity. "What happened to my lady?"

"A lot," you reply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know there is an ABUNDANCE of royalty aus out there for mister loki laufeyson, but i've put a little spin on it this time w some dimension travel so stay tuned if youd like!
> 
> please let me know your thoughts on this! and of course thanks for reading :--)


	2. Chapter 2

“Okay,” you say, slamming the door behind you and locking it, “we’ve got three hours to kill before nightfall, Mona; and I need you to promise me you will not go get a healer or whatever because I am not delusional, nor do I think they’ll help.”

You pat the bed for her to sit comfortably beside you before you launch into an epic retelling of everything that’s happened in the past week alone.

And so you spill. You explain that you’re a girl from a progressive city on Earth in the twenty-first century and you’ve got an established career and hobbies and friends and family and that you were getting by just fine before the incident. You explain the strange sigil burn upon the pavement before you fell through a hole into this bed, and you confessed that you had absolutely no idea who you had taken the role of in this new environment. You reach for it on the table and stare at it, as if your intensive gaze could alter what's been done.

"I was just walking from work and thinking about what to eat later, when I look down, and the ground-- it just falls. Can you believe that?" you sputter, unable to keep irritation out of your voice. "Mind you, the most magic I've ever seen on Earth is some man pulling a dove out of an empty tophat."

And finally, you tell her of the wound on your hand.

“I wasn’t sure,” you say, “if this was a dream or not, so I had to find out.”

She just gazed at you in disapproval. “Why didn’t you simply ask me to pinch you!”

“I didn’t know I was going to tell you all this so soon,” you say exasperatedly, with your face in your hands. “I thought I could hide it until the end where I’d be like, ‘surprise! I’ve been embodying your princess all along!’ but I realized I just don’t know enough. About anything.”

“You’ve switched places with my lady,” Mona says in a soft tone, “in other words, someone bridged Asgard and, em, Earth together and exchanged souls.”

“Yes! That sounds about right.” The longer you spent talking about this to her, the more abstract it all became. “But that doesn’t explain why we….”

“Have the same name?”

“Yeah. How is that possible? That can’t be a coincidence.” As much as you hoped it’d be, there was no way. Something was connecting you to the original princess, and it definitely was not just by name. “You probably think I’m insane.”

“Magic can do extraordinary things,” she offers, “but just not to this degree.”

You nod sullenly. “I have to find my way home soon though, you understand that.”

"I do. And I will try my best to see you succeed."

“Thank you, Mona. But my greatest fear is,” you continue on, “is that she, your princess here, is in my world and causing trouble.”

Mona shakes her head. “She wouldn’t.”

“How do you know that?” you mumble, not reassured in the slightest.

“I’ve been tending to her for many years now,” she says, “she’s a fairly intuitive and clever person. She’d never deliberately cause calamity in your… world.”

“Extreme circumstances can cause people to do some extreme things.” With a pause, you groan and throw yourself back onto the bed. “Mona, what am I going to do? Why did this have to happen to me?”

“I have no words of consolation, my lady,” she says. “But I do believe everything happens for a reason.”

“Not this time. I think someone’s playing a prank.”

She thinks briefly. “Do you have enemies?”

You give her a quizzical look. “No. Maybe? I don’t know. Definitely not any that know how to pull this off.”

“Then it’s most likely someone from here… magic and science are intertwined on this world.”

“I have to fix all this before it’s too late,” you mutter. “And I’m hoping she’s out there, trying equally as hard.”

“Too late?” Mona echos.

Your eyes flicker down at her. “The wedding,” you say, “I seriously don’t think I can deal with this man. He’s so…”

“Careful, my lady,” Mona says, ears red. “He’s a praiseworthy man among this land. Many dream of being in your position.”

You sit up. “That’s right. Your princess was in love with him. Why?”

Mona closes her eyes, attempting to recall the answer. “She met him once at a banquet. She fell in love after they danced.”

“He was that good of a dancer, huh?”

“Well. It was their proximity, I’m sure, that led—“

You wave your hand dismissively. “Spare me that bit. How does she act?”

“She’s…,” Mona hesitates, “very smart. And she can be very focused; very driven.”

“One track minded? Got it. Anything else?”

“With his Highness, she’s very friendly,” she says pointedly, “fairly physically affectionate as well.”

So that’s what happened just an hour ago. You kept your hands to yourself and that’s how he knew something was off. How could you have been so stupid? God. Then again, there was absolutely no way you were going to plaster your hands all over a stranger, no matter how attractive. You still had some decency.

“Does he like it?”

She goes quiet, and your eyebrows raise at this silent response.

“It was an arranged marriage,” she says softly, “for the benefit of your parents.”

“Oh my God.”

“Arranged marriages are common here in royal establishments,” she says, almost defensively, but you shake your head.

“That’s not what intrigues me. It’s the idea that she loves him and he doesn’t feel the same way that does.” You knew how that felt. One time, you pined over a girl who gave you no sign of reciprocation and the second you attempted to ask her out, she gave you that "sorry, you're a great person and all" card. All was said and done after that. Of course, you didn't blame her for the lack of attraction, but you did eat an entire pint of ice cream that day.

“We don’t know that for certain—“

“True, but being cold to your future wife it already pretty telling.” You push your hair out of your face. “Is that what I’ll have to do? Push him away to keep my facade?”

“Perhaps,” she says uneasily.

You think deeply for a moment before snapping your fingers. “Hold on, I’ve got a plan. What if,” you say, “what if I get him to warm up to me, just in time for the wedding so they’re both happy?”

Her mouth drops and suddenly you feel as though that wasn’t a very good idea at all.

“That way, I don’t have to waste my time acting lovesick, she gets to reap the benefits, and everyone’s happy,” you explain in rapid sessions, “that’s like, three birds with one stone.”

“Wouldn’t you be playing with his Highness’s heart?” stammers Mona.

“No, why?”

“Because it’s not my lady he’d feel settled with….”

“That’s only considering if this works at all honestly, which I doubt it will,” you muse, “he seems like he’s hard to get to. Plus, I don't have that kind of magnetic charm anyway. That’s annoying.”

She shrugs.

“And you say he’s a praiseworthy man? I’m not so sure.”

“He is! But I never said he wasn’t intimidating nor… difficult.”

“Maybe I should just slap him and tell him to treat me better?”

“You…!”

“I’m kidding,” you sigh. “But you’re right, it’s a dumb idea. Besides that, I might ruin their relationship further.”

“Well... If you do my lady a favor this grand, she’ll be forever in debt to you.”

“That doesn’t really mean much to me,” you say bluntly. "When this is all over, I don't think I'll be wanting to think about her ever again."

"Alright," she murmurs, finger tapping on her chin. "Is there anything else you wish to know, my lady?"

“Can you tell me where I’m from?”

“Oh, yes. You’re from a land far southeast, your father being an earl and your mother a countess. They are good people who own a modest lot of land,” she answers. "It took us weeks to arrive to Asgard."

You deflate, and she panics at your disappointment. “Did I misspeak?” she says.

“No, I was wondering if it would do me good instead if I broke the marriage off and went back to her homeland.”

She gasps and grabs your arm. “You can’t do that!” she pleads. "Your entire family will be looked down upon!"

"Let them," you groan. "It's not my family anyway."

"Please!"

“Fine, I won’t!” You look out the window at the ripples of orange and purple in the sky. “Guess I’ll get changed. Help me unbutton this?”

When you've finally stripped yourself of the cream gown, you take a long look at the new one before allowing Mona to slip it on you. It's beautiful and the material is luxurious you can tell, but there's still a subtle feeling of cosplay or some Renaissance fair you're getting from it. She carefully ties the lace back behind you, and you can’t help but continually grab at your wide sleeves and push them back. “How am I going to eat dinner with these?” you grumble. 

“Daintily, my lady,” she says. “What did you wear back at your homeland?”

“Pants, mainly. Sometimes leggings,” you peer at yourself in your vanity mirror and tucking back the loose locks. “I did wear dresses and skirts. Not like these though. I have a very… distinct style.” By distinct, you really had meant comfortable, but you didn't want Mona to think of you as some kind of slob.

“I hope you grow to love these attires,” she hums, “they all were custom made for my lady.”

“Were they now? That’s insane,” you say, adding, “they’re beautiful. I’m honored to wear them. Except…”

“Except?”

“This neckline? Isn’t this a little too much?” You gesture to your exposed collarbones and shoulders. The entire dress was a look with no practicality and you felt as though one false move in the silk and lace could ruin you.

She blinks. “They are the trend nowadays. I’m afraid I must encourage you to wear this one for tonight, but in the future I’ll let the tailors know your preferences.”

You shake your head. "Don't bother, it's fine. Would everyone think it strange if I started to wear pants?" You do admit the amount of fabric was somewhat liberating. 

"They'd think you're going out to ride if you wear trousers," she says, pinning your hair up high. "Which sometimes, my lady did."

"With Prince Loki?"

"No, alone. I presume Prince Loki prefers to ride alone as well."

"Then," you frown, "how exactly do they... bond?" Five bucks said that he sat beside her at mealtime but otherwise pretended they weren't acquainted.

Mona sticks the final flower pin in your tightly bound hair. "I... don't know. There would be moments my lady wished for solitude, but I don't know whether she spent that time with him or actually by herself."

"Okay," you say slowly, the anxiety slowly climbing through your body. As the sun set, you became more and more aware of the situation. The plan was set: you were to find the culprit and reverse the curse or whatever it was, as soon as possible. Tomorrow you'll go into the city without Mona, and try again. You'll try again as many times as you need to, until you get what you desire. A trip home away from these musty people who smell like old books and wine.

If only you could somehow communicate with the princess-- that would make everything exponentially easier.

You pick up the hand mirror on your vanity table and stare at yourself. Hilariously enough, you look nice and it quells your fears temporarily. Your attention then turns to the heavy, silver hand mirror, and turn it around in your hand. There are engravings on it that you cannot decipher and you run your fingers over it. None of these things were cheaply made nor plastic, and the rich quality of them only made you feel less and less like yourself and more like you were in a fairytale.

"My lady, let us take our leave now."

"Of course," you say, standing up with a stumble and setting the hand mirror down gently. You turn to her and she stands by the open doorway where you swear you already can hear the clamor of the royal crowd and faint music arise to your room. You don't speak as you walk down the eternal stairways, too caught up in your unfamiliar reflection on the stone floors.

\--

Thankfully, stress didn't plague your life as much as it used to, but watching these people scurry around happily as you stood there at the very edge certainly brought back the unwanted feelings of discomfort. A waiter brought around glasses of mead and you took one graciously, sniffing it with skepticism. Despite wearing a dress there and wearing your hair up high like all the ladies, you still felt like a fish out of water. There was absolutely nothing that bridged you to anyone in the wide room, and you were fairly sure that any cultural phenomenon or practice that might be embedded with them would pass way over your head. There was only so much weather to talk about.

To some degree, you felt like a spy just observing everyone interact. You ignore the way your hand shakes as you bring the glass flute to your lips.

“My lady,” Mona says kindly, “you must go out there and socialize. No nobility trails along with a servant.”

“I don’t know any of these people, do you know how difficult that is?”

“On the first day when we arrived,” she says, “my lady drank, cried, laughed all in one night. I’m sure a little talking is expected of you.”

She was a wild one apparently, and it wasn't as if you couldn’t get down once in a while-- just not here, in a posh party where people spoke like reciting Shakespeare. “Newsflash, Mona, I’m not her!”

“You’re also not yourself tonight. Treat it as,” she pauses, “an extended theatre play. The life of a lady in the Kingdom of Asgard.”

That would work much better if you had a script. You don’t lose your temper with her because you’re too nervous and also you know it’s not Mona’s fault you’re in this position. You wonder if the princess back at your place is having a good time eating cold pizza in your apartment and watching Masterchef. God, you wish you were her. You were far from self-conscious; however, there was a feeling of being a model in a room of other models.

You take from a passing platter of hors d'oeurves, inspecting it. "Mona, what is this?"

She looks over. "A cube of ham, my lady."

"Didn't know pigs existed here," you mutter, and pop it in your mouth. Then again, the eggs from the apple turnovers the other day indicated chickens, or at the very least, some animal that laid eggs. You wipe your hand off, and take a larger sip of your mead. "I'm off, Mona. I'll meet you in my room later tonight, alright?"

Your servant beams up at your sudden enthusiasm. "Of course, my lady. Have a lovely night."

Walking over to the long dining table that was beginning to fill up with guests, you speedily grab onto the back of one of the chairs. To the lady that sat beside the vacant seat, you cleared your throat. "Excuse me, is this seat taken?"

She turns and blinks, eyes wide. "Oh!" she says as well as exclaiming your actual name, with no title attached. "You look well! And of course, but wouldn't you rather sit with your beloved?" She was a beautiful lady, with long, dark hair and a sincere grin.

Did she know you very well? You smiles brightly to ease the tension. "I just wanted to catch up a little," you say, "since, you know, I'll be spending so much time with him later anyway, right?" You quickly sit down, keeping your eyes trained on her to avoid any stray gazes. The worst thing would be to look up and immediately spot the man you've been wanting to avoid.

When the main courses arrive, you don't have as much of an appetite as you thought you would after getting comfortable. You're on constant alert, like you expect someone to call you out for acting strangely. That apprehensive moment never arrives even long after you stop picking apart your meal. You are hugely left to your own devices now without Mona, and these minutes feel like eternity.

You stab at a starchy vegetable that's been so boiled down you can't tell if it is potato or daikon. Or something completely new. After a while, the lady that sat beside you excuses herself to go dancing with an unfamiliar lady with violets braided in her hair. Even from afar, they glow, before being concealed by the mass.

You chew thoughtfully, at a deliberate pace, but a sudden uproar around you forces you to jerk your head up, looking around at the commotion. 

For the second time that night, you hear your name being called, so you coerce yourself to stand up and find the source of the voice.

A few meters away from your seat, you see him and he parts the sea of people with ease. He flashes a grin at you and you can't help but return one. He's dazzling, the Crown Prince of Asgard; a man who appeared to be the epitome of dignity and masculinity even from afar.

"Hey!" he says. "Glad you could make it. You look lovely, by the way-- that color really brings out your eyes."

"Thank you, your Highness," you say, bewildered. His friendliness genuinely surprises you, considering the cold front his brother put on to you just this afternoon. "You look... dashing yourself."

A smile twitches at Thor's mouth. He's so handsome, in a glowing, unattainable way. This family was oddly incredibly attractive, in all honesty. "I do my best. And, um, my brother will be down shortly, in case you were wondering. You know how he is."

You nod, and shrug sheepishly. "I understand."

"Apologies on his behalf," he says. "So, yes, enjoy yourself! Drink! Eat! And-- hm?" A woman reaches over and taps his shoulder gently with a slender hand. She's flushed, but you're not sure whether it's from alcohol or bashfulness induced. Her brown eyes are bright when she mumbles something to him. Then, someone next to her snorts, slapping her arm lightly-- her friend, you presume.

"Would you like to dance with me?" she says to the Crown Prince, only slightly louder this time, but with enough force that you can hear the shyness in her voice. Your brows raise seeing this exchange unfold in front of you.

"Of course!" he says to her brightly. Then to you, he winks. "Have a good evening."

You don't respond as you watch them walk off to the open floor, and the way he offers his arm to her. He's clearly so adored by everyone, and for good reasons. Was he betrothed? For certainly he couldn't be married, otherwise people wouldn't display so much affection towards him like how the young lady just did. Would they? You shake your head, and push your seat in. You're done eating anyway, so maybe you'll take a quick walk around before excusing yourself for the night. You hope Prince Thor won't be disappointed in seeing you leave, but you're already feeling exhausted.

Allowing your glass to be filled up once more by a passing servant with a jug, you take an observant sweep around. No one's paying you any attention after that, thankfully. Looks like most of the attention are on the princes, with an entire crowd watching Thor glide around with his blushing partner.

So where was Loki? And Mona?

A band is playing at one end of the table, but you have had quite your fill of tunes for the night, and back further away from them.

And as you near the other head of the table, searching for an empty spot where you could just stand quietly to the side and drink your mead in peace, you see him.

Prince Loki conversing with several women and men, beside a column. Your breathing stops.

He looks invested, listening intently to his friends, and you pray to every single higher being in the clouds listening that he had not seen you appear before him.

Your first instinct is to leave his vicinity, efficiently and nonchalantly and you do immediately, squeezing yourself into the crowd and muttering apologies. You don’t bother glancing back to affirm he wasn’t following you. You can’t do this. Your goblet almost spills over as you slither your way out to one of the exits to the garden. Taking a massive chug of whatever was left in the goblet, you leave it upright on the floor and heave the doors open. A gust of wind blows in and you feel the goosebumps start to rise and you shut the door quickly after you step out.

It’s a full moon. You hadn't realized time passed so quickly. The sky is a glorious mix of navy blue and purple with speckles of stars in the mix. So this is what it looks like without air pollution. You want to fish out your phone and take a picture of the sky but the absence of it just forces you to marvel at the sky in silence with only the rustle of the trees in the background. Whenever you lifted your arms up, your armpits would get cold, so you kept them tightly locked crossed your body. Even so, the weather is fairly mild.

You think of the possibility of just taking off, right then and there. No one would stop you. The faint music coming from the supper inside makes you feel strange, like the protagonist of some movie. You find yourself walking down the pebble path, down to the gardens that you praised when the sun was out.

It's not a park for there are no benches, but the pebble paths all cross like a labyrinth and you end up in the center just staring up at the night and the evanescent clouds. It's all so surreal, and for a moment, you think you don't actually want to go home-- for everything is too glorious, too charming to part from. Shutting your eyes, all you do for a few minutes is breathe softly through the nose, and exhaling slow.

You want this feeling of quiet forever. But like all things, it doesn't last. Sound penetrates the air, and your eyes snap open.

“You look stunning,” a voice behind you says, “under the moonlight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i bumped the rating from mature to explicit sorry!! i'm just taking into account of what i might delve into later. ALSO, not to be that bitch, but since i love both thor and loki so much i will NOT be setting this up as some grief ridden love triangle i think we all can do better than that!!
> 
> ok and finally thanks for reading and let me know what you think of everything so far! :--)
> 
> EDIT: bumped it back Down because any explicit content in this fic will surely to be rare and not the focus so i thought it unnecessary to rate it as such thats all!


	3. Chapter 3

Whirling around you face the unknown speaker and your heart falls to your stomach.

“Lo- your Highness!” You do your best to curtsy. You feel like you’re in one big incredibly well done LARPing session.

The prince is dressed handsomely, as you expected, and against the moonlight and navy sky, he looks like he belongs in a painting.

"What are you doing out here? It's much warmer back there," he asks, his voice flat and offering no thrum of sincerity.

"I don't know," you say, shrugging. "It's beautiful out here. I wanted to see the flowers." You look to the sky and then back to him, who stands much closer to you now, so close that you could reach out and grab him if you'd like. He's just observing you now, and the prickling sensation of his gaze burns your skin.

“I heard,” he continues, “you injured your palm when you were… baking?”

“Oh,” you let slip. “Yes.” You're annoyed to hear Mona sold you out, but keep that remark to yourself.

You let him take your hand in his, and try not to shiver at the chill in his fingertips. You watch him unravel the makeshift bandage around the wound and you grimace, forcing yourself not to pull away from his proximity. The wound is still fairly fresh, not yet scabbed over completely and gleamed with congealing blood at the seam. But still he looks and looks, your hand in his.

“I wasn’t aware you were interested in such thing.”

“It’s a new passion.” You should have never once stepped in that kitchen for your clearly nonsensical whims. But you couldn't coop yourself up forever-- at some point, you think, your personal interests would have leaked through anyway. It was a matter of time.

But whether he notices your stiff behavior or not, he does not remark upon it.

“Need not to worry, your Highness,” you smile. You do admit his cold touch on the graze doesn’t unsettle you as much as his closed off behavior does. Say something, you croon silently, please break our silence, you fucking brick wall.

You observe his countenance carefully, but even now he does not seem to let his guard down. You wonder if he’s expecting you to do something.

He pulls your hand up and at first you think he’s inspecting your injury further, but to your shock he kisses your palm, blood stains and all. And as he does so, he keeps his gaze trained on you, watching your every move.

You struggle between an expression of monotony and disdain, and you can’t help when your hands start to shake. He lets you draw your hand back to your chest. His disposition is so impersonal this slight movement had stunned you into silence. You were never much of an actor. At least, not without a script. The music from the banquet hall streams out soft and loose.

“Cold?” he asks. “Or is it me?”

“It’s— it’s a little chilly,” you say hurriedly wrapping the lace back around and hide your hands in your long sleeves. His pale eyes trail over your exposed shoulders and collarbones and you busy your gaze down at your fidgeting. You want desperately to tell him to knock it off but you couldn’t do that and hurt their rapport further. But you don't want to flirt with this man, for you in all honesty, don't know how to. Back on Earth if someone appealed to you, certainly it'd be someone a little more friendly. And yet here you are, struggling with yourself, contemplating if you should attempt to vie for his attention.

It takes you no time to connect your thoughts. He was playing with you, so perhaps he knew? He knew of your strange, strange state, and only wanted you to directly admit it yourself? Panic rose in your throat. If he told anyone of your bizarre condition, you’d probably be sent to some ward where they’d prod at your brain like a lab rat. Your train of thought is lost to the mellow breeze.

“What troubles you, lamb? I’d prefer if you kept your thoughts on me.” That wasn’t a suggestion, it was an order and this was the second time that day the echoing, forceful tone came out.

You opened and closed your mouth like a fish, trying to speak but not finding the right words. “You but fill my thoughts, your Highness,” is your clever retort. Why couldn’t you act properly? You think about your past lovers on Earth and try to bring that sweet rush into mind. But nothing happens because you were never put in this position of helplessness. He's handsome, you think, with his height and eloquent behavior, but not someone you would see on Earth. Unreachable, even.

The prince steps close, cutting the distance between you two even further. “May I have this dance?”

You don’t dance. At least, not well like everyone else in this society, but you think refusing him now would damage you even more.

You take his outstretched hands.

“Are you cold?” you ask, but don’t realize you have until you meet his gaze.

You think you see his jaw clench in the dim, pale light of the moon but it’s evanescent. “No.”

To get his focus off your horrendous dancing, you speak. “Do you remember when we first danced together, your Highness?” You certainly didn’t.

"Oh," he says at first, and you almost freeze from his sparseness. "Of course."

"Yes," you say with deliberation, "it was quite the night." When he steps forward, he accidentally knees you and you grit your teeth, your fingers subconsciously digging into his shoulder for balance. And when he turns-- oh God, when he turns-- it's as thought you've never danced in your life because all the dance instructors always tell the students to look into the eyes of their partners for support and that was the one thing you couldn't possibly do that right then.

"I'm so sorry," you say hastily. You hope he can't see it, but you already feel your ears burning.

"No," is his reply. "I shouldn't of had asked."

"I-- I might've just drank a little too much, that's all. Don't worry about it."

He stops suddenly, the hand interlocking with yours lets go and traces down your side, finally settling on your hip. You try not to shiver. Both of his large hands are planted firmly on you and you just don’t know where to keep yours so you just rest them on his shoulders.

He is silent again, as if awaiting your next move. But you just stare into his eyes, mind whirring. If he knew you as a clingy lover but he despised it, what should you do? Act as such, and hope he loses interest?

“You’re so beautiful,” he says, and your thinking stops. This didn’t add up. Didn’t he not like you? Were they finally making up and it was just bad timing for you to come into the picture?

“It’s been so long since we were last alone,” says Loki.

You can’t read the emotion in his voice. “It has.”

Under the cool evening weather, the hairs on the nape of your neck only rise when you feel him blow a cool breath upon the exposed dip between your neck and shoulder. You can’t believe you’re going to have to suffer through this harassment.

“I cannot wait to take you tonight,” he says, “to see you fall apart underneath me.”

You don’t dare speak.

“Care to escape the night now?” Loki's breath is now on the shell of your ear, an ushering low murmur.

“No,” you suddenly gasp, finally breaking. You wrench your hand out of his grasp and back away a few steps. With his gleaming gaze watching every expression flutter across your face, you clear your throat, attempting to compose yourself. “I-- apologies, your Highness, but I don’t feel well tonight. I plan on retiring early to my chamber soon anyway.

He cocks his head sharply, and you swear you see faint amusement dancing in his eyes alone. “I can help you feel better.”

You coerce yourself to look away, down at the white stone path. They glitter just as bright as they did in the sunlight. “That won’t be necessary.”

“Why not? I’m craving your attention.”

“I mean,” you say weakly, “I’m on… my monthly bleeding?”

He just watches you, like he had all the control and you were just a performance. “That hasn’t stopped us before.”

You just stare at him. Can’t this guy take a hint?

Unable to force a response out of you, he just clicks his tongue and you fear you've been bamboozled again. "Very well." And with that, you expect him to depart with his dramatic cape billowing behind him. But no, he doesn't and again an uncomfortable blanket of tension falls upon both you and him. You don't feel that it's right for you to back away first, but do so anyway, taking a nimble step further into the garden path.

Wordlessly, he takes your wrist, and out of pure alarm you don't withdraw. His grip is firm, but still respectable, but the respect is lost when he pulls you in close for the final time, so close your nose bumps his collar and you can smell his cologne in the frosty night air. Strange, as you cannot place a finger on what kind of scent it is.

“I think it’s time to stop your games, lamb. Before either of us get hurt.”

Oh, no. Were you supposed to throw yourself at him the second he suggested sex? The younger prince of Asgard was exceptionally handsome but you didn't have time to harbor affections. It was simply not right. And he's going to be severely disappointed for the entire duration of your stay then.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you whisper, successfully keeping the vibrato out of your voice, “I adore you, your Highness.” You were no longer doing this to repair the late princess’s love life— no, this was about your survival and escape. Although, the sincerity in your voice surprises even yourself and it seems to satisfy him, since he roughly takes his hand off and steps away. But you’re wrong.

“I’ll give you time to reflect,” he says, his voice silver and full of annoyance. You can only blink at this sudden shift in atmosphere. “Don’t think for even a second that you can manipulate a prince.”

"Manipul--" you start with a peevish tone, but stop yourself just in time before he grows more steely. This was unknown territory that Mona didn’t forewarn you about. You've never felt so wrongly accused in your life, and yet it wasn't even your fault-- any of it. A small voice in you nags, telling you to confess that you were not who he thinks you are so you can be vindicated, but your pride is not that large so you don't say a word.

You must've taken too long to respond, because he just sneers at you, and your ears burn. Your humiliation amuses him, but for totally different reasons. He thinks, you realize, that he's got you-- the princess-- all figured out. He couldn't be any more wrong. But you can't even prove yourself so you let him wallow in this mistaken satisfaction, shifting your eyes away to escape the glare. The moonlight was delightfully cold on your skin, but everything just feels wrong. You're not even sure if this was your skin to start with.

"If you're going to feign indifference now, why even cry in the first place? It's humiliating to us both."

"I'm so sorry, your Highness," you say, restraining the bewilderment out of your voice. "I didn't mean to unsettle you."

"Why apologize when you clearly don't see the wrong in your actions?"

You bow your head and shift your weight from one foot to the other. There is a part of you, a glaringly large part of you, that is scared he's going to do something violent. Would he strike you? Was he that sporadic? You always knew you couldn't trust these olden aged men but by the looks of it, it appeared he would rather eat a white pebble off the path than touch you.

"You're so naive. You might be revered back at your cottage of a home, but here I am your prince above all. I am your superior." He said this whilst preening and you had to suck in a breath to stop from saying something brash.

Damn, alright. You, you want to say, can kiss my ass when I leave this place. But your mouth is shut because you're not willing to put a fight up right now, underneath the magical night. And, you're too tired.

In fact, again when you don't reply, he scoffs. "Typical. Remember, we may be betrothed, you and I, but don't expect me to court you like so. We don't live a whimsical lives and it's dangerous to think otherwise."

"You are right," you say, quickly adding, "your Highness."

He must've gotten bored in the evening weather, because he turns away from you.

"Rest," he says. "I can't have you limping and bruised on the wedding. After that, do what you want."

"Our wedding," you reiterate, a bold attempt to irritate him. "And thank you. Have a good night, your Highness."

By the time you call out, he's already well on his way to the glass doors.

\--

“Mona,” you say, walking briskly up the stairs to your chamber, “you must tell me every single instance you remember about Prince Loki and your princess.” He was right-- it was much more warmer inside but for some reason you'd felt more settled outside than ever in these corridors. The banquet was still lively behind you and you're certain it will continue long after you've fallen asleep too. You found Mona with several other servants, talking animatedly but you waited for a few minutes before pulling her away. You feel bad always burdening her with your troubles, but you legitimately had no one else in this golden city.

“Wh- what happened? I saw you leave to go outside and he followed.”

“Nothing good. He’s onto me, I’m fairly sure.”

“Oh no,” she says softly, “why don’t you…”

You pause before clicking open the heavy wooden door to your sleeping quarters. “Why don’t I what?”

She gulps. “Why don’t you tell him the truth of your state, my lady? It will save you all a great deal of trouble.”

“No,” you say, furrowing your brows, “I don’t think I can trust him. He’s too sly.”

“You don’t know that!”

“Please tell me how he is, Mona. I'm afraid I'm on a time crunch right now.”

“I rarely talked to him alone,” she says, frigid. “Only when my lady wished his company. Or he wished of hers.”

“And what of it?" You sit at the vanity table, keeping your gaze on her through the mirror.

"It was rare, those occurrences."

You narrow your eyes. "Rare, as in you don't know when they met up; or rare, as in they legitimately rarely met up?"

"The latter," she answers. "I'm almost always by her side, and never him."

"Then... how is it that they had sex?"

"They... what?"

"Your princess and Loki had sex but you're telling me they never even could keep a gaze on each other."

She gives you a flustered look. "When?"

"How would I know? Unless Prince Loki lied to me, they must've liked each other enough at some point," you grumble, pulling out the hair pins with a wince as they snag in your locks. "I think I'm done for the night."

When Mona doesn't respond immediately, you look over your shoulder. She frowns, eyes downcast, as if pondering heavily on your words.

"Hey," you say, "I'm sorry. I really don't mean to stress you out with all this." You pull your hair loose.

"No," she replies, voice groggy. She clears her throat. "That's not it. I'm just trying to recall what exactly my lady did when she was alone." Her eyes flicker upward at you and she steps closer, offering out her hands to unlace your dress. "She loitered around the markets often, I think. Never that interested in remaining in the castle either. Except the library."

"The library?"

"Yes, would you like to visit it sometime?"

"Actually, that would be great if we could."

Your undergarments stick to your skin through static, and you help your servant fold the delicate attire and tuck it away for wash. She hands you a clean nightgown and you nod in lieu of a verbal thanks.

"What about tomorrow noon?"

"No, not tomorrow-- maybe the day after would be better."

"Will you be going out again, my lady?" she asks, but both you already know the answer.

"Yes." There is no hesitation in your voice. When you walk over to the basin and wipe off your lipstick, you take the hand mirror again. Your fingers hover over your cheeks and you smear the makeup off with a damp cloth slowly.

"I understand. Shall I fulfill any other requests before I leave?"

You shake your head. "You've done enough, thank you. Have a good night."

After Mona leaves, you step to the window again. The city is glowing, just like the stars, with flickering lights among the shadows. You wonder how far you are from home, and if anyone has noticed anything different about you. You don't know how much sand is in that hourglass, but one day, it will all leak through and when it does and you finally leave, you hope you leave with some good experiences at least.

The footsteps to your bed are audible in the silence and as you lay awake in your dark room, you can hear the murmurings of people passing by your door-- laughing, gossiping. Your heart just sinks lower.

You pull the pillow from underneath your head and lay it atop your face, hoping it can subdue all your senses. At some point, you do fall asleep, but only after you've rolled around for an hour, searching for the best posture.

\--

The next day as the sun rose, you stumbled out of bed and get dressed. You don't really take mind in your attire as you speed through, not attempting to appear inconspicuous. Every step you take is giddy, full of determination and your only concern is if Mona panics at your absence. But you'd told her the night before, so everything should be alright. You walked on confidently, pushing open the doors.

As you walked out to the courtyard to pass through the gate, a guard stood there, in powerful armor and equipped with a sword half the length of their body.

"Hi," you say with a grin. "I'm just going to buy some stuff."

They hardly give you a glance as they speak. "All members of the royal family and associated parties must remain on castle grounds from dawn to dusk today."

"Um, what?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my chapters are just getting shorter and shorter UGH but yeah i think i've finally got a cohesive plot for this fic figured out and if you'd like to stick around please do so!! also letting u all know that i am capping this fic at 50k :--)  
> to clear it up i will NOT write anyone as a sexual harasser i actually hate that characterization of loki and of anyone!!
> 
> ok and finally thank you for reading and let me know ur thoughts on this! also lmk if you like shorter&""frequent"" chps or denser&infrequent chps


	4. Chapter 4

"Can I ask why?" you press, eyebrows knitted together.

"A conference is being held; it's a safety measure. No guest will be allowed entry either."

Just like that, your plans for the day were ruined and consequently dunked into the dumpster. The basket by your side slides down from the crook of your arm to your wrist. "Hold on, wasn't there some sort of meeting held a few days ago?

"That was held outside of Asgard. There are different policies here."

"Oh! You're right, my bad." Your ears burn, and no doubt they thought you were a fool.

"If you're that intent on purchasing something, a messenger can arrange a shipment at the end of the day." They eye your distressed state, unsettled but doesn't say another word of consolation.

You only shake your head. "That won't be necessary."

You hold a grimace off your face long enough to turn and as you walk back to your room, inwardly curse yourself for the bad planning and luck. You got up early for this and you had planned on skipping breakfast as well! In fact, the sun was barely out, still peeking over the edges of the mountains. You pondered on the guard's sparse words: what conference was this? Did it involve every member of the royal nuclear family? Now that you thought about it, it did strike you odd that even now you haven't met the king and queen of Asgard-- you never realized how busy these people were until now.

You wonder what they're like. Was the king a no-nonsense character, who ruled with an iron fist; or was he akin to a chill dad? Was the queen fair and just like the maternal figures are in fairy tales, or not? Only time will tell.

As you walk to the grand stairwell, you take note of the bustling servants and maids. They don't look to be treated poorly per se from what you've seen, but you feel strangely piteous of them. It was irrational, your pity, because you didn't know the context. Perhaps the majority of them quite like their job actually.

And yet that didn't change the fact that you were being undeservedly pampered by these diligent workers. You run your tongue along your dry lips and squint into the doorway that led to the banquet. From your passing glance, it's impeccably clean and bare already with no trace of a convivially drunken party having ever taken place. Your old makeshift bandage was still tied firmly around your palm, and more drying blotches of blood have bloomed in speckles when you slept it seemed. Perhaps you'll ask for some gauze later.

He'd kissed your palm. You recall it quite transparently considering how much of a startle it gave you. The kiss was chaste, and his unwavering gaze bore into you, and in spite of the clear green in his eyes you could not decipher a single thing. Maybe he knew. Maybe not. Something about you manipulating the prince had arose in the accusations last night, but whether it'd been in relation to your condition or not was an enigma. For if he knew someone else was parading as his lover, wouldn't he like to know who? And yet, he didn't ask. Mona's words from days before still ring in your ears. 

It could be something else entirely. The palatial walls were cracking but still you could not see through the slivers.

Regardless, your hackles have raised and your paranoia is steadily going through the roof. You suspect that if you don't find an escape soon, you'll instead fall into some trap of insanity. It's too early in the morning to piece together all the parts of this puzzle but something definitely ran deeper than unrequited love between the royalty.

It was easy to see how the nobility lived slowly, seeing as their main concern was how they could be entertained. With the money from past generations, all they need to do is look ethereal to the peasants and exclaim empty promises to a better future. So much easier than Earth right now. You should be relieved, your past troubles having been dissipated (though temporarily), but you find yourself fidgeting. The marble steps have never seemed so burdening to step on.

You already see Mona on the second floor, peering down at you. You stop and wave up, allowing her to meet you halfway on the stairwell.

"Good morning," you say, and hand her your basket. "Did you know there was a conference today? I didn't."

"I just heard," she says, "and I meant for you to have breakfast with Prince Loki today too."

Oh, no. "Is he waiting for me right at this moment?"

"No, fortunately for you he's also occupied with his duties."

"So am I free to do whatever I please for today?"

She glances at you sharply. "Yes-- after you've eaten breakfast."

"Right. Why don't you eat with me?"

"Oh, no, I couldn't. You will eat at the table today, and servants do not have a seat there." She places her hand on your shoulder and leads you back down the stairs. "They will think it strange if you remain in your chambers for all your meals. Besides, I've eaten."

"I give consent for you to have a seat," you offer but she shakes her head.

"To go against policies is to go against tradition in Asgard," she says, "and Asgardians adhere to tradition."

"It... can't possibly be that deep," you reply uneasily but say nothing more to change her mind.

"You cannot keep running off without supervision-- or at least, without letting me know," Mona says. "It's unbecoming. Regardless of how urgent this matter is, let's do our best not to taint my lady's reputation."

"I'm sorry. I'll run things by you from now on, but...." You trail off, uncertain as what to say, but Mona simply nods.

The dining room was also on the first floor and same wing as the banquet hall that was held last night. In fact, it was right across the corridor. It too held a long wooden table and a tall ceiling, its walls barely decorated if not for the lights that glowed bright behind the frosted glass. You took the seat perpendicular to the head of the table, not making a sound as your chair squeaks against the ground.

Your servant stands near the wall with her hands clasped tight in front of her and both of you wait patiently. The waiters come and go and as you pick apart the spinning tier of cakes you glance around in the solitude. Everyone-- which stood around ten people-- was attending to you as well as watching you eat. Unused to the attention, you keep your eyes down. You don't revel in an unwanted spotlight, and you never really will. You consider dismissing them so you could peacefully eat the decadent castellas and be on your way.

Was this what the princess ate on a regular basis? For you weren't about to downright reject it since you were famished, but all of it just sits heavily in the pit of your stomach. Maybe the spinning tiers of fruits and finger sandwiches on the carts you once received were only special treatment for the ill. You take a sip of the now lukewarm tea, the unfiltered leaves bitter on your tongue.

The time of genuine tranquil never really comes.

A loud trumpet rings in the hallway, causing the ceramic cup to slip out from your fingers and spill onto the tablecloth. You rub at the running water stain and dab it hastily. "Damn. What's going on?" The doors are shut and yet still the marching band music leaks through underneath the doorway.

Mona starts to move toward to check for you, but another youthful waiter holds her back by the shoulder. "The Allfather and his wife have arrived."

"The Allfather?" you repeat, too surprised to restrain your words and it is a quick, but noticeable mistake. The waiter glances at you, curiosity clouding her eyes but it vanishes as you speak. "Oh, yes! The Allfather. Should I make a greeting?" She takes your dripping, empty cup away.

"Their Majesties haven't requested my lady's presence, so don't worry about that. You will come when they call."

That's an odd way of putting it. You finish your meal without another word, not touching the tea again. It didn't sit well with you.

You hate the multitude of eyes that watch your every step, so when you finally leave the dining hall, you exhale a breath you hadn't known you kept stifled. Mona looks upon you with a delicate, concerned expression but only a breezy laugh escapes your mouth.

"I just can't get used to this," you admit lowly. "Don't think I ever will, really." You don't doubt she's tired of hearing you complain of your lost nature, but she responds.

"Thank you for complying." Her limpid eyes blink at you and you feel oddly burdened rather than uplifted.

You turn your attention forward this time. "So if I take a right, the library's right there?"

"Yes, would you like me to accompany you?"

"Do you have any other duties to tend to?"

"Well... no, your requests are my highest priorities."

"Then take the basket back to my room, I guess I won't be needing that. And mind getting me some gauze?" You hold up your injured hand.

She nods and gestures at the cloak still tied on. "And would you like me to take that as well?"

"I suppose so." You reluctantly shrug it off the heavy, charcoal wool, your bare arms now exposed to the corridor drafts. Before she leaves, you lean in close, mumbling, "By the way, who's the Allfather?"

"My lady, that's the king of Asgard."

Any remark that you'd planned to make now fades away on your tongue. "Ah. Well then. See you soon."

Your heels click on the floor with each step and you enter shyly into the grand library, feeling even smaller than you had before. The tall glass windows that overlook the waterfalls and the city of Asgard give you an ethereal view and it is hard to believe it's not artificial. The homey, hazy feeling of the room warms you right up but you still tiptoe around with deliberation. There are all sorts of individuals flitting through the shelves around you, and it's as if you were back home in your city's library.

The atmospheres would be identical if not for the absence of electronics. In their place, there is a large map of (what you presume to be) Asgard in the center of the room, pinned on the table.

You scamper over, pressing your fingers down lightly on the parchment. So that's the kingdom and capital. Various towns and villages are scattered all around over there, but there are absolutely no labels-- not on the kingdoms nor capitals. You trace over the bodies of water and mountains, hand traveling south. It had come to you that most likely, the princess's land wasn't even on the map. Perhaps too geographically distant from Asgard. That served as an advantage, for people could blame your eccentric, almost bizarre behavior on your lack of Asgardian culture.

Nevermore, you take your hand away from the crinkling map. 

You sink into a gray love seat that smelled of dust and sit still, taking a long, thorough sweep around the room. Time seems to pass in a nonlinear fashion as you marvel at the world you have found yourself trapped in.

An hour doesn't even pass before the oak doors open and Mona appears. She's flustered as she walks around in search of you, and you quickly stumble up.

"My lady! Have you found something good to read? You can always take books out to read elsewhere if you prefer."

You take the gauze you'd requested earlier from her loose fingertips. "No, I haven't, sorry."

"How about you try looking for one, for later? I'm afraid you've got a schedule to fulfill today."

You squint back at her. "What is it?"

"Prince Loki requests your company-- I'd passed him by in the hall walking down here and he'd asked me to relay this to you."

"What does he need?" The occurrences of last night begin to cloud your mind. Your subservient attitude pissed him off, and you can't afford to do that again. "And do I have to?" This flies off your tongue weakly, a meager attempt to escape.

"I-- I have no clue, my lady. And it would be wise to accept."

The undercurrent of it all doesn't need to be deciphered by a rocket scientist. "He's come to berate me," you say miserably. "Oh my God."

"Berate you?" she echos, sounding horrified. "What for?"

"For-- I don't know!" you hiss under your breath. "For lying?" A familiar dizziness returns and you tiredly rub your temples.

She offers a weak smile. "He is waiting in his study."

"Then I better quickly find something first."

You take a random book off an eye-level shelf. It's nondescript, its textile cover so worn that the title has been partly scratched off, and thus illegible. "So, do you have any recommendations? I like action. Maybe a little bit of comedy." You flip through the pages quickly, the sharp smell of old books drawing you back. You stop part way, eyes skimming through the dense paragraphs and tiny font before you pause.

"I...," you pause and frown, unsure of how to gauge your arising panic. You touch the back of your hand to your forehead, sensing if you had an ailment or something because the words aren't registering in your brain. "I can't read this."

"I beg your pardon?"

You squint down at the squiggles on the page that seem vaguely Latin and yet not at all. You offer the book towards Mona and she peers onto the page upon your encouragement. "Folk remedies for expecting women," she reads aloud. "Exciting."

"Is that what it says? I can't read this at all," you repeat.

"You can't... read?"

"I can read my native tongues just fine! But not this, at least, whatever it is." Snorting derisively, you snap the book shut and squeeze it back into its original place on the shelf. "Figures. Though I'm glad I wasn't having a stroke."

"Would you like to learn?"

"Thank you, Mona, but that's a lot of work I couldn't ask you to do that." How difficult would it be? Even if you did pour your efforts in this, it might be for naught considering this scripture was guaranteed not to exist on Earth.

"No, not at all. I'll find some stories you might like, and um, yes. But in the meantime, please go ahead and meet your Highness. Mustn't keep him waiting for too long."

You follow her out, keeping a good few steps behind. When you finally get to the third floor where the prince's study is located, you're breathing slightly harder than you'd hoped for. For a magical kingdom they should figure out how to implement the Hogwarts' stair system at the very least. You gesture wildly in front of you. "Which door?"

"That one, my lady. Would you like me to wait outside the door?"

You think over this offer carefully, but ultimately you stand alone, gazing at the natural circles in the wood and taking your sweet time before hesitantly knocking on the frame. "Your Highness?"

"Come in," is what you hear but still, you pause before turning the handle. You brace yourself for another furious bout, but he's just sitting, his feet kicked up on the desk that held piles of papers and books all askew. You stand stiffly at the entrance, not daring to touch anything lest he'd scold you. You felt like a child in front of him, and it was humiliating. The silence is deafening, and you are almost afraid he can hear your heart's incessant beats.

"Did... did your Highness need something?" you try attentively, eyeing his movements. He turns a page in his book and your gut twists. Being ignorant to the land's culture was one thing, but to be illiterate as well? That was pure tragedy.

He finally turns his chin, not yet completely reaching your gaze but acknowledging your presence at the bare minimum. "Yes, actually," he says, "I'm not one for sentimental talks, but I feel this is essential."

Oh, no, you think gravely, this is it.

"Let's just be mature with each other," he continues, shutting his book loudly and setting it down. Turning, the prince gestures between you and him. "Now, I know you came with your fantasies and and high-strung whims, but let's be real... I'm just a man as well. A glorious man, yes, but an individual with individualistic needs."

Already, his words were lost on you. He looks at you with an expecting gaze, and it was exceedingly clear you were supposed to know exactly what was going on. So it seems that this fight days before your arrival was the most troubling occurrence that has ever happened yet, seeing that he wasn't over it and neither were you. Maybe he even thought your current, abnormal behavior was some kind of cold-shoulder treatment; a punishment. You're just glad he hasn't figured you out yet.

This is sad. You open your mouth but shut it without vigor. "I...," you force out. "Okay."

He stares at you. "Okay?" The flinty behavior he displayed before was entirely gone, which only fortified the theory that he was, in fact, testing you.

"Yes, okay. I hear you." You swear, none of your past relationships-- platonic, romantic, sexual or otherwise-- ever had this much pointless drama.

"And that's it. You have nothing else to say," he says, skepticism lacing his tone.

"What do you want me to say, exactly? I'm sorry, your Highness, but there's just nothing else for me to say. Can we just... put this all behind us and move on? I don't blame you for anything and I apologize for everything I've done, truly." Your voice ends squeaky and out of breath from this sporadic outburst, but you're glad to get it out. A more grandiose lie has never been told in the history of lies and falsehoods.

Though the room is large, you are cornered and you remain still as he comes near.

"I'd like that," he says, in the peak of the hushed atmosphere.

"Then it's settled," you reply warily, eyes wide. "I don't even know why it's such a fuss." That off-sided remark was the only glimmer of truth in everything, but you are satisfied just seeing him take this in peacefully.

The prince doesn't respond to this, but his relaxed posture suggests that maybe, he agrees. You think it's over and that Loki will dismiss you until he speaks again.

"Sit," he says, and you comply, taking a seat at the very edge of a navy ottoman. You take a good glance around your surroundings this time. Other than the desk inundated by paper, everything else was orderly, the walls almost entirely lined with bookshelves if not for the windows (which were covered with a flimsy, translucent curtain), like a mini library itself.

He reaches out with an empty hand. "Do you need help with that?"

You completely forgot you still had the thin roll of gauze clenched in your fist. No, of course you don't need help rebandaging a wound, but in a silent moment that spoke louder than any verbal vow, you nod. The prince drags his wooden chair over to you, letting it grind annoyingly against the hard floors and keeps his eyes traced on you all the while. He sits across from you, and your knees knock.

He takes it from your fingers and sets it down neatly on the bench. You let him take your hand in his with as much ease as you could muster but don't look away from his gentle movements. The prince undoes the knot and again, observes the wound. It hasn't changed much from when he last saw it, but the scabs are developing nicely, sealing up the rough seams left by serrated blades.

"You'll have to redress this regularly," he says smoothly, taking up the roll and unwinding it. "We can't let it fester." You imagine your hand becoming septic and rotten, their medics having to pour mead on the wound to cleanly stitch it up and cringe. Without even peroxide, you're not sure how hygienic their medical procedures are, and you don't really want to find out.

His cold, callused fingers are comforting in their own way, working efficiently, wrapping and knotting.

"Not that it will necessarily," he says, "this cut is much too shallow."

"Yeah, still, it's-- it's a bad thought."

He presses a faint smile that-- from your view-- doesn't quite reach his eyes. "It is. And I'm done." There's a pause, and as you allow your eyes to refocus, you realize your stable hand is closed slightly around his.

"Sorry!" you say, withdrawing away. "I've been exhausted these days, you know? Always zoning out."

"I agree... and it's certainly not the fault of your concussion either, is it?" His tone is set to a light muse, offering no hint of ulterior suspicion.

"No," you say simply. "Maybe I've changed."

"Maybe."

You sat in disturbingly close proximity with the prince, so much so you can feel the heat radiate off him, but you can't nonchalantly move away without appearing rude. Clearing your throat, you shift in your seat on the ottoman. "... I thought you were at the conference thing?"

His brow raises at your informal language and you bite your tongue. The premeditated thoughts were miles easier to transcribe into their stylistic speech, but anything off the top of your head was bound to be rooted in how you normally spoke for years. "I was only required to be there for the initial formalities... otherwise this affair has nothing to do with me."

You don't pry at what the affair actually was since that was surely classified information, but instead prod about his brother. "And what of Th-- Prince Thor?"

The younger prince snorts at this. "He's still there, bored but flattered, undoubtedly."

"Oh?"

"She's there, as well."

"... Who?"

His eyes flicker back at you then straight forward. "Emil. The daughter of the duke here, don't you know her? She's got her eye on him for quite some time now since they've arrived. It's pathetic, really." It strikes you odd he doesn't use titles, but don't take any note of it. Perhaps all ranks below him just didn't matter.

"I mean," you say, miffed at his boorish tone. "She seems nice." Was he talking about the lady who asked Thor to dance?

"Sure," he says, "though it'd be much easier for everyone if she'd just understand that my brother isn't going to marry her."

So Prince Thor wasn't married after all. Your silence piques his attention, and he huffs. "You think it's odd too, don't you? That the second in line marries before the Crown Prince does."

That's not at all what you were thinking but you shrug sheepishly anyway.

"Back where I from--" you stop yourself, eyes wide. What were you about to say? But he's looking on with interest, and you can't bear shut yourself up without warning again. "Back where I from," you continue hurriedly, "it doesn't matter which child gets married first when they grow up. But the older siblings always have a little more pressure, I think. That's just how it is." You're not entirely lying. "And-- and I know this was arranged, so I guess it's not really the same, but... I still hope we can be friends. And look out for each other." You end your sentence firmly, jaw clenched, hoping he will not launch into another session of unwilling unions. 

"That's the least that's expected of us," he replies, and your mouth loosens into a smile subconsciously. You're surprised when he laughs, brief but humored. "Are you really that relieved?"

"After what we've been through," you admit, "I wanted to be explicit."

"I suppose this is your form of an apology. Very well, I accept it."

"Thank you," you say quietly, and in your rib cage, your heart rate drops to a more normal beat. You hesitate, but finally dip down into a bow. Of course, your intentions were not to get friendly, and you hope you'll never get to that degree. You just, simply put, want him to let his guard down with you. Accept the princess as she is currently, long enough so he will not suspect anything. This mantra plays over and over again in your mind.

You hear him sigh and pull your back vertical. "Enough already. I like you much better without the stiff airs. Are you occupied tomorrow?"

"Yes. Actually, I don't know. I was planning on going out to shop around tomorrow," you say. "I was going to go today, but... yeah."

"I see. The marketplace?" he asks coolly, and you think his eyes flashed with displeasure in the dim light. You nod in affirmation.

He exhales sharply. "Alright. Don't loiter too long after sundown, then."

"Of course. Will that be all, your Highness?"

"... No." He draws close, his fingers hovering over your arms, and almost as if he's peering behind you. "Dine with me," he says in a low tone, "tonight. I'll request them to serve whatever you want."

You freeze. "Oh, no, that's unnecessary; I'm not a picky eater."

"No? Funny, you were quite the epicure--" 

"Then, how about squash, Loki," you cut in, a pitiful attempt to save whatever face you still had. When his hands gently turn you around so that your back is towards him, you go rigid. "What are you doing?"

"Squash? Done. And deep apologies, but," he says, not at all apologetic and your blood has turned to ice. "Something's bothering me, and it's your dress." The prince's fingers trail down between your shoulder blades. "You didn't button this correctly. Did you really walk around the whole day like this?"

Flushed, you pull away and face him. "No. Really?" You try to grab at the open buttons at your upper back but to no avail. At least with the cloak no one had seen your exposed skin. "Oh my God. I'm so sorry."

"What are you apologizing to me for? It's not my clothing." Even with this retort, he starts to reach over but you take a step back, out of his reach.

"No, no," you say, "I got it." With much effort, you do find the stray button and its loop ultimately. Letting him dress your wound was one thing, but to button your clothing up-- you're not quite that settled by his presence yet. You smooth out the front of your clothing and lift your chin. "If we're all set here, then I'll take my leave."

"Tonight," he reminds you as you turn the cold handle.

You only take a quick moment to nod before slipping out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK!!!! i don't have much to comment on this time but happy lunar new year!!! and you know what? i meant this to be a humorous fic to offset all the drama n violent fics there are BUT that plan tanked ugh but i promise smth fun (n GOOD) will come out of my writing one day
> 
> thanks for taking your time and reading this!!


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